


The Worst Possible Time to find out you're a masochist

by Clicking_of_needles



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Crying, Handplates, Humiliation, Masochism, Other, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Punishment, Self-Hatred, Shame, Spanking, an excuse for gaster to get the living hell beaten out of him for everything he's done, gaster is but he doesn't understand what's happening or why he feels that way, inconsistent skeleton anatomy with my other fics, just roll with it plz, not really sure how to classify this as porn, toriel isn't getting anything sexual out of it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-04
Updated: 2020-04-04
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:27:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23478469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Clicking_of_needles/pseuds/Clicking_of_needles
Summary: Toriel is alive!And she is NOT happy with what Gaster did while she was away.And she's going to make that very, very clear to him.(Handplates AU)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 18





	The Worst Possible Time to find out you're a masochist

**Author's Note:**

> Not entirely sure if this counts as normal porn since Toriel isn't getting off on it and Gaster is but doesn't know that he is or why, but I'm marking it as explicit anyway. It's porn-adjacent at the least.

On some level, he'd always known this was coming. Something like this anyway. He always knew that his reckoning would come some day. There was no way that someone could do the things he'd done, think the things he'd thought, feel the things he'd felt... BE the person he was, without the universe eventually realizing that something would have to be done about it. Something like that just couldn't stand unnoticed. Unregarded.

Unpunished.

Admittedly, he'd never quite imagined it going like this. For all the time he spent constructing theories and playing out hypotheses, carefully rewording sentence after sentence of the hundreds of papers he was in the process of constantly writing, he'd never considered something like this. Maybe, in the process of dealing (or not dealing) with his grief, he'd simply disregarded the possibility of her still being alive entirely. Too implausible. Too unprecedented. Shoddy work. Biased data interpretation. Yet another reason he had this coming.

Honestly, how much could any one skeleton rack up before karma came calling?

What was this feeling? He wasn't entirely sure as he stumbled along by Toriel's side, the scruff of his sweater in her unrelenting grip. He was still struggling to process the fact that she was alive and present next to him. The reality of the situation, their incredibly long history together, everything between them - all of that disappeared in the face of her honest and true anger. Gaster had seen it before, on rare occasions, when she'd truly been frightening. He knew she was capable of it, and he'd thought when he'd first started on this doomed project that if Toriel had been alive, surely he'd know that fury full force when she found out. 

His imagination didn't do it justice. His SOUL was hammering in his chest, frantic to escape, rapid thuds that reverberated through his bones. He didn't have blood vessels like humans did, but from what he'd read, the sensations couldn't be that dissim-

She slammed the door behind them and flung him to the floor. Really, she didn't have to try to knock him off his feet - his legs were barely in the state to stand. All the rattling wasn't helping, though he was nowhere near the presence of mind to get himself to stop. Gaster pushed himself up a little on his arms, staying close to the carpet like the lowly thing he knew he was, trembling as he forced himself to look up at her. 

Toriel looked down on him with ice in her eyes, her mouth in a set line, brow furrowed. She kept her arms straight by her sides, unmoving, a harbinger of judgment that was deeply, deeply displeased with what she saw. Disappointment, anger, a cold calculating regard, the _thoughts_ he could see in her eyes as she considered what was to be done with him... there was no mercy to be had here, and he knew it. He certainly didn't deserve any, and he knew that well too, and he drew himself down closer to the floor, like he could make himself smaller.

Silence. Gaster couldn't even imagine anything he could say about what he'd done that wouldn't be as good as an insult to her. His selfish, cruel deeds painted a picture louder than any words could ever be. He didn't deserve to even be here, cowering on the floor, withering under her scorn. He didn't - had never - deserved to be alive, and that was never more clear to him than in this long, dragging moment where nothing was said.

What a coward he was. He'd known from the beginning that this, something like this, would happen to him, and now that the inevitability he'd predicted had come to pass, he couldn't even face it like an adult. All he could do was fill the silence with the uncontrollable rattling of his bones.

"Wingdings Gaster," she said, the words carrying all the weight of her hundreds of years of rule, the hundreds of years he'd thrown away on his stupid, selfish project, hundreds of years of dealing with wretched things like him.

He didn't want to, but in spite of himself, he made a soft sound.

"Your behavior has been completely inexcusable, and you know it. You did things I cannot even think about, I cannot even say, because you thought you were above consequences." A moment while her eyes pierced him to the floor. "I am going to remind you that you are not."

He choked on a thin, weak whimper.

"You will be disciplined as you never have been before, until you never forget for even a moment all the pain you have caused. And it will begin with this." She took a step forward and he tensed, but she did not head for him. Instead, her goal was a nearby chair beside a table, and she pulled it out and sat in one fluid motion. "A very long, and very thorough, spanking."

He couldn't speak, the words not registering but the look on her face was completely, terrifyingly serious. Her hands rested on her knees, expectant, as he blinked at her several times, his fingers twitched as he tried to get his brain working again.

"Serious...?" He couldn't make a full sentence. Her eyes narrowed and fear flooded him in a wave. His hands were shaking so hard it was difficult to think clearly enough to put words to motion. "Not a child-"

"Did you hear me?" she said, her voice completely even. "If you do not come over here immediately, I will come get you myself."

He was sure she meant it, and he was sure it'd be the worse option. Still, part of him balked at the idea of it, the image of it, the... humiliation of it, how could she even...? She had to be serious, but how could she...?

Gaster pushed himself up to his feet with shaking hands, tried to keep his rattling under control to no avail, and his SOUL thrummed so hard and rapid that he felt like he might shake apart. He was glowing now he was sure, he could feel magic flickering across his face, lighting it with warmth and embarrassment. He took a step towards her and somehow, despite his best urging, he found himself hesitating for a moment.

"Do you not deserve this?" she said, ice cold, her eyes thin with contempt and scorn, and what felt like heat swept up and down over him, shame and self-hatred and embarrassment all mixing together in a confusing, powerful storm. He knew the answer, and it felt like tugging a tight string that ran through all his limbs.

He nodded with a shiver, magic glowing all the more warmly across his body. She was right - he deserved nothing less, and far more. She'd given him an order. He'd brought this on himself. There was no one to blame but himself for this.

Gaster took the remaining steps over to her, standing by her side, and fear and awkwardness held him in place for a few moments. How could he do this? He knew it was going to hurt, he knew he had to hurt, he deserved to hurt, and still, his traitorous bones held him back. What was he supposed to do now, just lower himself down...? Couldn't she just take him and put him in place?

No, the point was that he had to do it himself. She'd told him to bring himself over to her for a reason. She wanted him to offer himself up for the punishment he knew he deserved. She wanted him to know, exactly, what he had coming, and to come to it willingly.

Everything in him felt like it'd been overclocked, it was all mixing and blending to an extent that it was hard to tell what was actually going on. Fear, apprehension, tension, shame, regret, guilt, embarrassment, and the humiliation of the position... the demeaning, helpless position across her legs. He was hundreds of years old, and it was all disappearing in front of him like smoke.

It hummed in his mind over and over as he gingerly tried to lower himself over her lap, fear ramping up higher and higher the closer he got to her. He deserved this. He deserved this. He'd earned this with his own poor decisions, his own stupidity, his own selfishness. All the heartbreak he'd inflicted on so many others, all the pain he'd caused, all of it coming back to him now. He deserved this, and it pulsed in his SOUL.

He was down, but it was awkward, and she accordingly had to adjust him. One of her hands took a firm grip of the back of his neck, pinning him down against her so he couldn't move, and his breathing jumped, went ragged. She spread her knees a little so more of him was across her, angling his legs, his hips properly... he almost couldn't breathe. Now he was truly helpless. Now there'd be no escaping it.

He deserved this, he thought, his face pulsing with the shame of it, almost unbearably hot, his breathing thick in a non-existent throat, his eyes watering. What was this? Nothing like this was inside his realm of experience, and he didn't know how to classify it, understand it, file it away.

"You have behaved extremely badly, Gaster," she said, and now that he couldn't see her face, now that all he could see was the carpet below, all he could feel as her hand firmly pressing his neck down, it was all so much worse, so much worse. The words burned through him like fire, flickering through his bones, across his SOUL, in his eyes in a powerful glow. What color, what color? He couldn't think clearly enough to say. He _was_ bad. He'd always known that. Thinking it twinged those threads through his bones again, a strange vibration of tension. "And you will learn to never do such things again, one way or another."

He'd never shaken this hard in his life, his toes scrabbled against the carpet, what was he supposed to do with his hands? How was he supposed to prepare himself? He couldn't see her, all he could see was the ground as she propped his hips firmly against her knee, so his tail would have-

He was surprised by the sound when the first strike hit, it was shockingly loud and he gasped involuntarily at it before the pain hit right afterwards, and that rapidly turned it into a strangled whine. Toriel was strong. He'd always known that, he'd seen it in her from the very start. He'd seen her exhibit it on the battlefield back so long ago. Seeing it did not prepare him for it at all. Pain radiated from where the thick smack had hit, at first dull but then glowing brighter. He didn't have much time to think about it before the next smack hit him, and he jerked violently. Pain on pain, he'd had just enough time to process the first blow, feel it, when the second fell and multipled it, and he cried out without thinking about it.

She tightened her grip on his neck, pinning him down more firmly, and it was like a corresponding claw was grabbing at the bottom of his ribs, his spine where his stomach would have been, something was grabbing him hard in a way he didn't understand. Pain, the pain was the primary thing, and he struggled mindlessly, thoughtlessly to escape it.

"You are not going anywhere," she said through gritted teeth, focus lining every word. 

A third hard smack, sending him rocking against her legs, the force of it rippling through his entire body. He gasped again, louder, as the previous glowing ache evolved, changed, grew in ways he'd never before experienced. He reached out blindly with his hands for something to hold, something to grip, a way to bear it, eventually settling to the hem of her robe. He couldn't get his knees to work properly, to get any kind of actual purchase on the carpet to try and make any kind of meaningful escape, not that she was going to let him go. He was sure that trying to escape was just making her angrier, but he couldn't help it. His body was moving on autopilot now, panicking and trying its best to react to this new pain any way it could.

"No, you are going to stay right here." Again with the strain of effort through her teeth, as focused as she was on bringing her hand down with such force. "And you are going to take every, single, one."

She punctuated her last few words with three rapid, sharp slaps, and the burning was evolving into something different, something he wasn't sure he had words for. Quick strikes stung unbearably, causing him to yelp pathetically with each one before gasping for breath, holding onto the hem of her robes like it could somehow save him.

Nothing was going to save him now though. He knew that well.

There was a moment's pause, enough for the pain to full flower and take shape, before the palm of her hand smacked against him again, sharp and loud, his whole body jarring, and he yelped again with tears in his eyes. It kept growing exponentially, how could something like that even be possible, he didn't think it was even feasible, how could something like this hurt so much, it hurt everywhere through him, that burning, tight feeling in his SOUL was just getting worse and worse, the heat in his face almost unbearable. With the flood of pain came a rush of shame at what she'd said, at what she'd promised, that this was just the beginning. He deserved this, again it pulsed deep in him in a way that made him twitch uncontrollably, shut his eyes and want to hide and disappear. He deserved this, he needed this.

Needed this, the thought clenched tight claws around his SOUL as it occurred to him, and again her hand fell on him with a sharp smack, and he let out a strained, faltering cry he couldn't help. Tears stung his eye sockets but he fought them back, he always fought them back, he couldn't cry now, this early, how many had she done? Had he even been counting? She'd said this would be long and extremely thorough - if he couldn't even bear this much, how was he going to get through the rest of this? Did he even have a choice?

He didn't... that was the nature of punishment, wasn't it? It wasn't his choice anymore about whether or not this would happen... it WAS going to happen, whether he thought he could take it or not. It wouldn't stop until she was satisfied, and then he had no idea what she would do with him. He couldn't imagine anything worse than this, as unbearably humiliating as this.

He needed this, and the thought clenched tight around his SOUL again, causing him to make a strangled whimpering sound even without the accompanying pain. Someone like him, someone as selfish and cruel and bad as he was, bad the thought echoed, bad flickering around his SOUL, hot and bright and hard to look at, someone like him, he needed this, he needed this as much as he deserved it, he needed real discipline, he needed to know how bad he was, he needed to feel it, he needed her to teach him a lesson.

His thoughts were muddled, unclear, hot and heavy in his head, in his eyes, in his mouth, in his SOUL. He tried to lift his head, and she shoved it back down forcefully, he tried to move his hips and she grabbed the back of his pants to put him back into position.

The smack was deafening, echoing through the magic clouding his head and his thoughts, and the pain, the pain! Thousands of tiny fractures through his bones it felt like, pain crackling loud and insistent, multiplying, growing. The magic that held him together, that gave him the padding to sit comfortably, he could feel it radiating heat just like his face, bruised and burning, flushed with pain and heat and warmth, so much warmth. He couldn't make it stop, couldn't get away from it.

The echoing pulse, the same insistent drumbeat, the same plucking of those tight strings. He deserved this, he needed this, he deserved this. Deserved all of it, and he kept going back and forth between the two thoughts, his SOUL beating harder, thicker. He squirmed uncontrollably to try and release tension, ease the pain, to do _some_ thing, and all that made her do was tighten her focus. She arched her foot to raise one knee, to angle his hips upwards just slightly to give her better access, and now she began to spank him hard and fast with little pause between each blow. He could almost feel the imprint of her hand on him as it left, but he had little time to process it. Each lightning bolt of pain had only a second to bloom - the rain of loud smacks, inescapable evidence of what was happening, what he'd earned, what was happening, he couldn't drown it out. 

She was not taking it easy on him. Each slap landed hard and true, each one leaving that imprint of her hand on him, on his magic, evidence of what she'd done. What he'd earned. So everyone would know, and again everything in him clenched, braced for something, he wasn't sure. Everyone should know, shouldn't they? That he deserved this, and he DID deserve this, and so much more... that he deserved to be here, taken across her knee, that he _needed_ this in ways he wasn't sure he even truly understood. He needed this as hard as she could give it, as long as she could bear it, no matter what his body might have said. 

He deserved nothing less than to be spanked like a naughty child, although he had even less of an excuse, as he was no longer a child but he still hadn't learned his lesson. So of course, she would have to make it brutally hard, incredibly painful, and entirely merciless. And she was doing a very good job of that.

Although, in his current state, he wasn't much in the mood to analyze what she was doing, exactly. She kept up the same punishing, unrelenting rhythm - fast and hard, with barely enough time to register new pain before it multiplied again, and again, and again. The pain was driving all logical thought out of him. All he had was that pounding, insistent heat in his chest, in his face, all through his lower body. He was shaking uncontrollably now, energy draining, still squirming feebly in an unconscious effort to make the pain stop, but it wasn't going to stop. 

Her palm landed on him again with a loud crack of flesh against magic, another shadow imprint of her hand on him, proof of what he'd earned, what he'd done. How much more of this could he take? The pain was too much, it was getting to be too much, whatever it was that was building in his chest was too much, he didn't know what it was or why it was there or why his thoughts kept going around in the same same circles, the same same drumbeat, over and over again. The simpler animal side of him just wanted this to stop, just wanted this to end, was begging it to be over, was begging for this to be enough.

He deserved this, he needed this, ALL of this, every last bit of it that she was willing to give him, that he'd forced her to give him, that his badness, his unworthiness, his shameful awfulness, had forced her into this, had forced her to do this to him. Shame, shame rising up over him, through his throat, into his skull, his eyes. Everyone was going to know, everyone was going to know that she'd done this, that she'd spanked him, that she'd spanked him so hard and for so long that he'd, that he'd-

He felt something coming and a hidden reserve of energy rose to fuel it, to make him struggle again to escape, to DO something, and in response she just pinned him down tighter, more firmly, reminding him with a stern and heavy hand of her promise, of what he had coming to him. There was a pause before the next heavy smack against him, harder than the previous, sharp and loud and the tangled mass of things he'd been trying to fight reared up, broke through conditioned defenses, and he let out a loud and pained sob. It was like a dam had been broken - once the tears started, they couldn't be stopped, and he was in no state of mind to try and shore up any mental defenses. Tears flowed now freely, uncontrollably, he struggled to breathe, and for a moment, the pace of the blows slowed. Just long enough for him to let his guard down, to think that maybe this was over, that he'd had enough, and then...

"Now you are starting to understand."

And her hand descended on him one more, the razor sting of the slap against magic and bones that felt tender enough to shatter under any more abuse, and he couldn't help it - he sobbed again, loudly, at the blow. The sound, the pain, they were all mixed up, and that didn't stop it from coming. No, she resumed the same pace as she had - hard, fast smacks that drove him against her body, that rocked through his entire being, and with each one, with each new firework of pain, he let out a choked sob. His breathing grew ragged and ugly, heaving as he struggled to get it under control, tears streaming down his face, and still that warmth plagued him, still his face burned, still his SOUL clenched, still, every time she laid another mark on him, every time she sent more pain cascading through him, every loud smack that surely everyone must be able to hear... and if they couldn't hear her disciplining of him, then surely they'd hear the pathetic sobs he was making.

Surely at this point, he was entirely broken. There were no deeper depths to which he could sink - he'd lost all dignity, he'd lost all sense of self. He was nothing now but pain and shame, nothing but blatant, pathetic sobs asking for mercy he didn't deserve, for clemency that wasn't coming. He was entirely broken, no defenses left, and still... still, it was not enough for her.

No, he had not learned his lesson. He had not gotten everything he deserved yet. And he deserved this, again it echoed in his mind, he deserved all of this, even if he didn't think he could take it. She'd make him take all of it. She had no mercy for him. He didn't deserve it. All he deserved, all he needed... all he NEEDED was more of this, more of this until he was...

Thoughts in circles, broken and sparking, unable to connect through the constant, constant pain and the tears and the sobs. That clenching feeling remained, that tension, those threads running through his bones quivering and trembling along with the rest of his exhausted body, waiting for something, something, but what? It didn't matter what he wanted, what mattered was what Toriel thought would be enough, what she wanted to do to him, how much pain she thought would be enough. He was bad, he had been and was and had always been bad, he'd known it, and wasn't this what bad people got, wasn't this what bad people needed, wasn't this what they deserved? This was all he ever should have gotten, all he ever was, just a weak, pathetic, sniveling child pretending to be something he wasn't, longing for someone strong enough to show him what he actually deserved, what someone like him needed more than anything.... incontrovertible, undeniable proof that he was bad, because if he hadn't been, this wouldn't be happening to him, and he wouldn't WANT this to...

He wouldn't WANT her to-

It clenched, everything did, as her claws dug into his neck and her hand came down on him again, again, again, again. His body was seizing, his SOUL was drawing in, thoughts blurring into a thoughtless rush in some strange noise he couldn't identify, that he deserved this, needed this, wanted this, _wanted_ to be spanked hard and long until he, until he-

It roiled through him like a wave, magic weaving in and out of his bones, even through the unbearable, unthinkable pain under his tail, echoing to his scrabbling toes and back to his SOUL and with a choked, strangled sound, her open palm smacked into him again so hard, and his SOUL sent out a web of small, half-translucent bones around them as he shuddered uncontrollably. 

Even that didn't stop her. Her hand fell on him again even more firmly, loudly, another bright starburst of pain as a reprimand for his emotional display, and all it did was cause his SOUL to send out another weaker wave of bones, another powerful shudder through his body, another choked, strange cry between a sob and a moan. Tears still streamed down his face, he didn't know where he was, what was happening, what he was feeling, what this meant, but he couldn't stop himself, and he couldn't stop her. Another sharp slap, and another spurt of bones. Her pace slowed a little for her blows to become that much more focused, that much more calculated, that much more painful, and for each one, each time her hand left that painful imprint on that soft agony, more bones came from his SOUL, releasing uncontrollably, wildly, randomly. Gaster sobbed for breath when he could, torn between gasps of pain and the strangled sounds of release with each hit.

He only had so much magic. Each burst became weaker, sending more liquid magic down the inside of his shirt to drip onto the carpet, sending out bones smaller, more translucent, while she still put full force into every blow she rained down on him. Barely able to move or think, he sobbed uncontrollably, unable to conceive of himself as anything more than this pain. It didn't feel possible to hold all of it within one body. It grew and grew and grew until it felt like it'd envelope the whole world, and there'd never be anything else.

He was so lost in the agony, in the struggle to breathe, in the long and tremulous sounds he was making as each sob racked through his chest, sending fresh tears down, that it took him a few moments to realize that another blow had not come in some time. It didn't seem real at first - by now, it felt that he'd always been here, always been in pain, always had been punished and punished and punished as he deserved and required, and that it would never end, and should never end. But he didn't hear the smack, he didn't feel the stab of new pain in the countless exploding galaxies of it he was currently experiencing. All he could do in that moment was try to catch his breath, feebly try to regain some semblance of self-control.

Was it over? He had no energy, no magic, nothing left. He couldn't move, couldn't think. With no new pain to amplify it, now the old pain, each individual smack delivered to him, had the time and room to blossom and grow and take its real, full shape, twining with others, and every time he thought he'd reached the limits of his endurance, he was wrong. Pain had worlds he wasn't even aware of, that he couldn't even imagine. Moving made it worse, and he could barely move. He just sobbed for breath on her lap, utterly broken. There couldn't be a world outside this. He couldn't imagine it anymore.

"Don't you think we are done yet," Toriel said, although she was out of breath, and her voice lacked the steel it had had before. "I am not finished with you. I'm sure you have not learned your lesson. Have you?" She paused to take in a deep breath. "Do you think you have had enough?"

He was delirious, still crying, unable to show any semblance of who he thought he was. Stripped of every defense, every thing he'd thought he'd known about himself. He couldn't even think of any specific thing, event, project, or plan. He looked at the nebulous core of himself that remained after it all, and asked himself that question.

And slowly, trembling like a leaf, he shook his head.

"That's what I thought," Toriel said, quietly. She slid one hand under his arms, the other under his hips, and she stood, taking him with her. The movement flared like a supernova along his lower back, and he made an awful whining sound. The whole world was gone again, a pinprick against the flare of this agony, brighter than anything he'd ever known. Nothing could stand in the light of it. Nothing.

And yet, when asked, it hadn't been enough for him.

He wasn't even sure when it had happened, but she'd lain him down on a bed, resting him on his stomach. His body throbbed, everything hurt, but he had no energy to move, to think, to do anything but struggle to keep breathing and bring the world back into focus.

"Someone who has been as uncontrollable as you, who has shown such poor judgement for so long... you will need more. To really understand the consequences of what you've done." He couldn't see her. The world had narrowed down to nothing but pain and her voice, her presence. Some absurd, inexplainable part of him wanted to thank her, and he wasn't sure why. "When I recover... the ruler will be next."

He didn't know what that meant, he thought. But then there was that tight throb in his SOUL, that pluck across the wires of his limbs, an attempt at a shiver with no energy to fuel it. No, he did know what that meant. Somewhere. Even if he couldn't put it into words.

This was only the beginning.


End file.
